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Saturday, 27 July 2013

Living Dangerously

It had truly
been a dark and stormy night but today it was balmy and brisk – the calm after
the storm. And today we were off to the farm. Yorick was left in charge of the
house – well nominally – who has ever heard of a cat being left in
charge of a house for gods sake?

Cat left in charge of the house. Yorick on look-out duty

We piled
into the car, three dogs and I, and in front of us lay an afternoon of buggering
around aimlessly on the rocks and around the river. Blissful prospect and we
were all very excited when we arrived, yapping and barking and running from one
interesting smell to the next, stopping only to lick our itchy bottoms – well
some of us did, those that can.

The
previous night, dark and stormy as it had been, had resulted in a serious
increase in the flow of the river. And here I must give a little local
geography.

The river
running through the farm (the Nkoyoyo) divides into two streams. One flows into a partially
natural swimming pool and the other flows photogenically over rocks in a little
arboreal glen. The two streams – still separate – then spill majestically over
an escarpment and re-join splashily some 15m below. All terribly dramatic and a
tad vertiginous if you are that way afflicted.

On the left, the river runs through an arboreal glen, and on the right it is retained in a semi-natural swimming pool,
occasionally populated with water snakes

In the dry
season the river is a babbling pussy cat (sorry) of a stream, but in the wet
season it roars like a lion. In flood this river is awesome. The last major
flood event saw it rise some two meters, take out trees with half meter trunks
and move loose boulders the size of wheelbarrows.

Well, we
all crossed the first stream with ease, but at the narrowest point of the second
the two Collies bounded over, but Tyke the little fat staffie-cross managed only
to bound into.

A moment of
brief concern but she seemed to be making her way across an admittedly very
narrow piece of strongly flowing water - “pumping” we would say in this part of
the world.

The location of Tyke's mysterious disappearance

“Tyke,” I advised, “come this way, upstream,
and get out of the water.” As usual, master of the moment, I expect immediate
compliance.

With a
dreadful slow motion feeling it was obvious that the idiot dog had lost her
footing – not difficult possessed as she is of very short legs - and was being
swept towards the precipice. The water took on the consistency of larva as the
frames of my mind slowed and, back end first, she was dragged towards the edge,
and the last thing I saw was two pleading eyes as she was carried by the
gelatine water over the rocks.

Many
thoughts cross ones mind in such stressful moments. “Oh Fuck” is usually fairly
explanatory. Broad as it is long as it were.

I ran to
the edge. The stream – the torrent – bifurcates at this point. 10% hits the
rocks and cascades over the edge, 90% disappears to the right down a vertical rock
chimney with horrible ferocity.

There was
no dog.

I leapt. I
walked in tight circles. I cursed and put my head between my knees and clasped
the back of my head. I howled aloud. I did all the things that they do in the
movies in similar circumstances and was thoroughly ashamed at myself for being
so predictable.

What could
I do? I was paralyzed with indecision.
Seth and Hamlet sat patiently and waited with open interest for my next move.

The way
down to the base of the waterfall normally takes a good 5 minutes scrambling on
greasy rocks and through thick vegetation; but I did it in three. The two
Collies thought this great sport.

General view of the waterfall as the Nkoyoyo River plunges
over the escarpment just before it joins the Mbuluzi River

I got to
the base of the waterfall which is a gentle pool that gathers the water from
above before ushering it over the next set of rapids. I looked for a floating
portly cadaver – but there was none. She could not have gone down-stream so she
must be up. Up the waterfall.

I had no
alternative – I had to go up. Up rocks that were greasy from last night’s rain
and today’s flood waters. Up rocks that were continually sprayed from above. Up
rocks from which a fall would at best result in a broken limb and at worst a
fatal head injury. Madness! But I had to find my dog; and so did Hamlet who was
right behind me, all four legs akimbo and tail erect as a counterbalance as he
struggled to keep a footing.

In our
house the command “Kitchen” usually means get out of the lounge, dining area,
TV room, study, bedroom, wherever. It generally does for all of the animals
(except of course Susan and Jaws, the goldfish who are fairly static). It is
regarded as a universal “get the hell out of here” sort of phrase. In the current
circumstances a brief word of command seemed more appropriate than “get off
these rocks you stupid dog”, and lets face it I had not been particularly
succinct with instructions to Tyke earlier on.

Picture it.
I’m spread eagled against a wall of greasy rock, eyelashes, fingers and toes
gripping every available crack and bulge, and Hamlet is similarly poised.

“Kitchen” I
snarled, “Kitchen”.

I swear he
looked up at me with rare canine insight. His eyes said “What the hell is this
guy on about?”

“Kitchen” I
yelled, and he retreated to base camp with frankly more dignity than I was
showing.

Hamlet contemplates life from the "kitchen"

I climbed
up as far as I could under the rock chimney. I was dreading the potential sight
of a tan coloured body jammed on the rocks out of reach until the waters had
subsided. I dreaded even more the discovery of a small rotund dog caught
between the jaws of two rocks with back broken, conscious, with the same two
pleading eyes that I had last seen disappearing over the rocks. If that were
the case I knew that the only choice was to drown the creature there and then.

Hamlet poses at the base of the "chimney"

Mercifully
the choice did not arise because - there was no sign of anything.

I clung
precariously to the rocks, distraught and empty. Hamlet sat quizzically below
“in the kitchen”, and Seth just sat.

I was
pondering what to say to wife and youngest daughter who were that very evening
saying fond and doubtless tearful farewells at O.R Tambo Airport in Jo’Burg prior
to the latter flying back to London – and concluded that, for the moment, to
lie by omission was the only answer.

As I
gingerly descended the rocks I was already choosing the flowers and the hymns.
The eulogy was formulating itself and would have a decidedly cat/dog ubuntu theme. I had selected the second
hymn and settled on yellow Arum lilies as the signature flower and raised my
tear stained face to the top of the cliff that I could never again regard in
the same light. At which point I caught sight of a shivering rotund tan
coloured creature that was certainly not a Dassie against the horizon, at the
edge of a water greased 15m vertical precipice.

As relief
washed over me like the waterfall I had just started to hate, I shouted
commandingly and with supreme stupidity, “Tyke. Stay”. And for the second time
that day a dog looked me contemptuously in the eye (only this time admittedly
from some distance) as if to say “You utter Prat. Do you think I am sitting
here for my health, or to admire the view?”

Somewhere here at the top of the chimney
Tyke has managed to wedge herself . . . but
where?

Back across
the base of the waterfall I slipped and slid. Through the sharp knob thorn
undergrowth I rushed, and fought my way through dense Strelitzia trunks. Up the
smooth rock I scrambled, led and followed, by the two Collies.

Back to the
top of the waterfall, down the side of the water filled rock chimney,
stretching across glassy slime covered rocks to grab Tyke and clasp her to my
bosom. Three lifts to safety. Each time I set her down and say “Stay”. A
redundant command because she is too cold and scared to move but lets face it
far less stupid than saying “Kitchen”, and I have to say something to her.

The mystery
remains. Where on earth did she go between disappearing over the edge and
magically re-appearing in the same place 20 minutes later? We shall never know
because Tyke remained strangely silent on the subject.